The Northern Wind

The Northern Wind

He took a shaking breath, rubbing his arms at the sudden chill in the air. Northern wind, it was about to rain. He smelled the damp in the air, feeling nervous and a tad claustrophobic. The sounds of townsfolk were relatively loud behind him, deep in the heart of the large building. Even at a celebration, those living in the forts were careful to control their volume. He felt sticky, knew he smelled like horse and worse. No spare water, no bathing. His grandfather had told him many years ago that a real man bathed in the night-cold rain. His father had forbidden him to do so, his face strangely pale and grave. What could it hurt?

He stepped out into central court, stripping quickly. His face lifted to meet the first drops of rain. He felt something odd, a strange lightness as the suds rinsed off into the dirt. It occurred to him that he ought to feel cold. He did not. His brows wrinkled and he turned for his clothes, but then he saw a tiny twinkle of light on the hilltop near town. His heart caught in his throat. Any number of things it could be, none of them friendly. It might be bandits. It was the time of year for them. He left his clothes behind lest they catch in the brush and make noise, carefully slipped out of the fort.

Old Baeddan was watching the small gate. He knew Baeddan was paying no mind to the watch; he surely should have seen that glimmer of light. He\'d been punished for it several times, but he always protested no monsters had been seen in a generation. And never a Shade or Slipshadow. Not this far south. Slowly he went up the hill, making no more noise than a breeze it could hear the pounding of his heart. Some things could. He gaped when he saw her. She\'d put up a framework of skins to hide the light without being seen, how he did not know. She was covered in swirls black as night -- must be an odd type of leather-- and her skin was blueish, her eyes ruby red, and her long hair was bound in complicated braids.

Then he finally placed what she was and felt a thrill of fear. No monster... Or at least opinions were divided on if her race were truly man or monster. Northern Wind. Wolfen. Dark Riders. They had many names. Only one did they answer to, were simply bemused by the others. Or so said his grandfather who claimed to have lived among them for a time. Vrakos. It meant simply, \'The Family\'.

\"So you know our language, do you, little boy? Come in.\" He stiffened in indignation, he was nineteen, an adult next year. He realized the swirls were her skin, that she was naked as he. His face burned. She seemed not to notice. She pointed at a bowl of paint and ordered him in a crisp voice that brooked no argument, \"Rub that upon yourself. You were washing in the rain, were you not? It is Our custom and you have begun, so now you must finish it. Daub it on as you will, the design is not important.\"

He might have protested, the paint smelled like axle grease and grave dirt and was darkest black with tiny silver sparkles like stars, but it was thick enough he could almost pretend he was wearing clothes. He streaked it over his body without paying any mind to making it look interesting. She stood by her fire, singing softly to herself. She turned the instant he finished. \"I am here tracking a creature south and it heads directly for your home down there.\" He\'d have ran that instant but her next word froze him. \"It is a Shade.\" His blood turned to ice, they hadn\'t the Wards or Tech to keep out such a thing. \"Come, I hunt.\" That was what the Vrakos did, but it was said they had become little different than their prey.
He stepped out into the night and his nostrils flared as he saw a thin, phosphorescent mist flowing down the hills to the north. Shade. The very word was a thing to instill terror. The Great Cities had fallen to them in a single night, so said the Elders and it was their business to know such things. She ghosted past him, moving quickly, barely seeming to touch the ground. Odd that he had no trouble keeping up with her. He caught a faint stench, like a sulfur spring. Their heads snapped up as one to follow the scent. His mouth felt strange and he felt over all stronger. He\'d felt this before when tracking antelope, but never to this degree. His skin felt tight, like it would split at any moment. He easily hopped a long dead tree, surprised at how bright the star shine was this night.

And then there it was. A tall creature, towering over the both of them, painfully thin and seeming stretched. Tatters hung off of it, not quite touching the ground. It reeked, worse than the sun bloated corpses of animals he came across near the salt flats. He snarled at it. It hesitated a moment, then shrieked. Unarmed, he sprang at it and began to rip at it with his fingertips; the woman was striking it with a sword. Some part of his mind was screaming at him that he\'d lost his mind, but he could not stop himself. His teeth caught in his throat, claws ripped into his chest, through it. Spidery fingers surrounded his heart and squeezed. Darkness closed in, but his jaws did not release it\'s throat. Stars burst behind his eyes; it\'s fingers tightened. It\'s foul blood, the blood it had stolen from countless victims, oozed down his throat and roiled in his belly. And then there was nothing...

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